MySpace Dad

“I can’t believe it,” a predictable reaction from any father. Roger was pissed off and his wife Kathy knew it. That’s why she didn’t show him this crap immediately. Kathy had hoped the problem would quickly go away, it hadn’t, and so she finally brought it to her husband’s attention.

Porn, pure and simple what he saw on these pages was pornographic; printouts of text messages between his twelve year old daughter Rebecca and her Internet boyfriend Matt. She had met him on MySpace a couple of months ago and hadn’t been this happy in a year or two. If you haven’t had the pleasure of living with a girl in her preteen and early teen years, they are miserable beings and their only goal seems to be making those around them equally unhappy.

She’s only twelve. Roger knew one day his little girl would be grown up, naively thought this wouldn’t happen until she was at least in high school. “We have to stop this now,” he told his wife as he stared at her red faced and breathing rapidly. Kathy agreed. As a dad, he wanted to immediately confront his daughter with, “what the hell are you thinking?” Ripping Matt’s head off was also near the top of his to-do list.

Kathy tried to calm him down, but his heart was racing and his blood pressure was through the roof. All he could think about was kicking Matt’s ass, the boy that was texting what he wanted to do with Rebecca once they were together and alone. Fortunately a twelve year old isn’t as smart, or sneaky, as they think they are. Rebecca had cut and pasted the texts into a Word document and hid it on the family computer in the office. Kathy had secretly been reading all of Rebecca’s files and had found this file.

A day later Roger and Kathy calmly discussed with Rebecca the dangers of MySpace. Actually Kathy was composed and Roger tried hard not to say anything for fear of going ballistic. Rebecca told them that she was just having an innocent Internet relationship with Matt. Kathy asked how old Matt was and where he lived; Rebecca said he was sixteen and lived in Seattle with his family. Roger thought to himself that he knew none of the actions they went into great detail in the texts when he was fifteen, let alone twelve. How the times have changed.

As the parents probed Rebecca about the age difference the conversation got heated. Since they had read a number of texts, they knew that this wasn’t as innocent of a relationship as Rebecca led them to believe, but they didn’t want her to know they had seen the texts. As even the most trivial things are to a young girl, this relationship was everything to her. Roger made her give them her MySpace id and password so that they could examine everything she was doing on the site. They also told Rebecca she wasn’t allowed on numerous sites and if she deleted the Internet history files again, a regular practice of hers, that she would lose her computer privileges’. A day later Rebecca deleted the history files and she lost her computer access. This was accompanied with tears flowing from Rebecca’s deep brown eyes, the obligatory scream of, “you’re ruining my life,” and “you say I’m mature for my age, why can’t I make my own decisions?” Everyone was mad. The situation was now officially out of control, they were all yelling at the top of our lungs and any neighbors close to the four bedroom Tudor knew that a fight with the kids was taking place.

Although Rebecca wore her hair over her face to hide it, for the next several days her eyes were red from crying and she sported a constant frown. Rebecca did her best to pick a fight with her parents at every opportunity. She sucked Kathy and Roger in regularly with skirmishes ending in her running off to her room concluding with a door slam. Kathy soon fixed the door slamming by removing her door.

About a week later the relationship started to thaw; Rebecca seemed to getting over it, or so they thought. Actually Rebecca’s liaison moved from the Internet to the phone; not good since Rebecca had been given her own cell phone on her birthday. Roger thought it was a bad idea to give a twelve year old a cell phone, but was overruled by his wife. After a couple of weeks Matt made the mistake of calling the home phone looking for Rebecca and Kathy answered. When Kathy asked who was calling and heard that it was Matt she went into mom mode. Her interrogation started with asking his age. Matt said he was eighteen. Shocked, Kathy asked, “Do you know that Rebecca is twelve?” Matt said she was fifteen. Kathy told him she was in sixth grade and just twelve.

Kathy and Matt talked for a while longer. The conversation ended with Kathy telling Matt that he shouldn’t call again and he agreed; problem over, right—wrong. This incident just angered Rebecca and made her and Matt sneak around more. Fortunately, through Caller ID Kathy and Roger knew that Matt indeed lived two-thousand miles away from their suburban Indianapolis home in Seattle, but still had a dilemma that needed solved.

Two weeks later at precisely three a.m. Roger heard a beeping in the house. It stopped and a moment thereafter he heard talking. It was coming from Rebecca’s door-less room, he walked in and asked her who she was talking to. She was on her bed, lights off with her right hand under the pink pillow that matched the walls of her fourteen by fourteen foot room. She quickly responded, “I must have been talking in my sleep.”

Obviously she thought her dad was stupid and bought her excuse, but instead Roger told his daughter that he was going to head to the kitchen for some water. Once downstairs he pretended to get some water while listening for her conversation to begin again. While she was talking he sneaked back upstairs and burst into her room where he saw her arm quickly plunge under her pillow. Roger said, “Who are you talking with?”

Rebecca said she wasn’t talking with anyone. He asked his daughter to give him the phone. When she didn’t he grabbed her arm as she resisted with all her strength. She moved her Motorola flip phone to her other hand so it couldn’t easily reach it. He asked again, “Who’s on the phone?”

This time she told him sternly, “Mind your own business!”

As Roger grabbed for the phone she put her now free right hand on it and snapped the phone in half. Roger gasped as he couldn’t believe she was naïve enough to think that this was going to keep him from finding out who was on the other end. Of course he already knew that it was Matt and the cell phone bill would prove that out in a week or so. But the phone was now broke and beyond repair. Secretly he was happy that her personal cell phone was gone.

Angrily Roger grounded Rebecca and told her she wouldn’t get another cell phone anytime soon. He went back to bed where Kathy asked what had happened. He told her and she agreed that Rebecca wouldn’t be getting another cell phone. They also discussed how we needed to end this relationship before it got further out of hand.

Several tense days in the house went by when Kathy showed Roger some new text messages. It seems that Rebecca had been texting Matt whenever her parents were away and was still copy and pasting them into Word documents. This text message string was from the day after the incident. Matt had asked what had happened and why they were disconnected so abruptly. Rebecca told Matt that, “my Dad’s nuts, he got mad for no reason, snapped my cell phone in half and threw it at me. He’s crazy!” It’s always interesting to hear how kids spin the truth. Roger never even touched the phone and he’s crazy?

Kathy and Roger had hoped Rebecca’s relationship would fizzle out if let alone. After a month from the snap it was still going strong behind their backs. Every once in a while Matt would call and one of her worried parents would answer. On one occasion Matt had the audacity to argue with Roger about Rebecca’s age. “She’s fifteen,” he said.

Roger shot back, “Rebecca’s my daughter, I should know she’s only twelve, she’s in middle school, what the hell do you want to do with a twelve year old!” This got them nowhere, Matt continued to call and Rebecca called him. They wanted this MySpace relationship to end, but how?

During one of the conversations with Rebecca, Kathy made her give tell her Matt’s full name; they already had his home phone number from Caller ID. Roger googled the name and phone number. Roger half expected to find Matt on the sex offender list. A search result came up for Intelius.com, a site where you can find nearly anyone in the country. Incredibly for just $14.95 anyone can get a person’s date of birth, income range, close relatives, address and address history. For a few dollars more you can get information including a criminal check. Roger paid for the basic search with his Visa Signature card. Less than a minute later the results appeared. Roger was relieved to find out that Matt was really nineteen, not a fifty eight year old pervert, and lived at the same address as his parents in Seattle. Roger shared this information with Kathy who was thankful that Matt was essentially a kid living across the country and probably wasn’t a threat to do any physical harm to Rebecca.



While planning a business trip for work to Seattle about two months later Roger remembered he had Matt’s address and that he lived in Seattle. What could I do with this, he thought. First, he considered sending Matt’s parents copies of the texts with a little not attached; surely they would not be happy to learn what their son was up to. Then it hit him, with a devious smirk on his round face, Roger went to MapQuest.com and frantically typed in the address of the meeting he was attending in Seattle and Matt’s address; eight point three miles apart! It looked like a little side trip in Seattle was in order.

What could I say and do when I get there, Roger was thinking. A father traveling two thousand miles across the country to see his daughter’s Internet friend would surely send a message, but what if his parents answered the door? Bring printouts of text messages that could be shared with then, and of course he would have an extra set for the local and state authorities, after all, the fact remained Matt was soliciting a minor.

Three weeks went by until the Seattle trip. Roger had played out the different scenarios over and over again in his mind, but knew that there would be no sure thing. The worst situation would be meeting up with an overprotective father that’s an active member of the NRA. Roger programmed his cell phone with the number of the local police department and had gone to MapQuest to see that it was less than two miles from Matt’s home. He was armed with several copies of the text messages; one for Matt or his parents, whoever answered the door, and another addressed to the “Sex Offenders Unit--Seattle Police Department.”

Roger’s meeting ended at two o’clock and his flight home wasn’t until the next day, so he had plenty of time. He first drove by the police station and then over to Matt’s house. In a rented G6 he slowly drove by the red brick ranch on a tree lined street several times first. Each time he tried to see if there was anyone in the yard or could be seen in the windows. The lights where on in the house and a 1994 beige, Toyota Camry with a dented rear bumper sat in the driveway in front of the big white garage door. At this point Roger was thinking that this idea seemed great across the country from Matt, now he was having second thoughts. Maybe Matt really is harmless. As Roger drove up and down the street in this middle class neighborhood he thought about the thirteen year old girl from Michigan that had recently ran away from home with a fifty four year old that she met on the Internet. Other horror stories that ended less pleasant ran through his mind.

He parked the rental on the street, took a deep breath and got out. He walked slowly up the driveway with several white, nine by twelve envelopes with the text messages inside. Roger had already put his password in the cell phone and had the police department’s phone in speed dial in case the situation spiraled out of control, which now he thought may be the case. He looked around at the neighbor's homes to see if anyone else was around. He approached the front door of this neatly kept home with an array of red and yellow annuals lining the concrete sidewalk.

Roger thought one last time about aborting this plan, I could always just mail them with a note, couldn’t I? He remembered why he was here and knew if anything had happened to Rebecca he wouldn’t be able to live with myself. He took a final deep breath, raised his hand and firmly knocked. Seconds seemed like minutes and there was no response. He counted to ten and knocked again. As he patiently waited, he noticed a doorbell to the right of the wood door with three small windows at the top. He pushed the doorbell and went over in his mind the prepared remarks that he had thought of for Matt or his parents. Standing there he was getting angry, when finally he heard something in the house. Roger again pushed the doorbell and could hear the faint ring through the door. Now he heard footsteps coming towards the door. The light brown hair on the back of his neck was tingling.

The door opened. A boy, seventeen, eighteen maybe nineteen looked out. He was about five foot six, a hundred and thirtyish with wavy black hair that had yet to be combed today. He wore an old, white V-neck T-shirt, jeans and was barefoot. Was this Matt or maybe a brother? He curiously said hello and it sounded like the voice on the phone, but he wasn’t certain. For a second Roger froze, anger gone. His mouth hung open as he stammered for something to say. He looked at him and into the house through the foyer into the family room. Matt could see Roger looking into the house and said, “Can I help you?”

He looked back at his thin face and tried to remember why he was there. Then it hit him, he recalled the text messages and said, “Are you Matt?”

All he said was, “yes.”

At that point Roger knew why he was there, why he came two thousand miles. He said boldly standing up straight to overshadow Matt, “we’ve talked on the phone several times, I’m Roger Barger.” His blank stare let him know that the name meant nothing to him. “You probably know me as Rebecca’s Dad.”

Matt’s face now showed surprise. Not expecting Matt to say much once he knew who Roger was, he went into what he had come there for. He took out a four by six inch photo of Rebecca and handed it to Matt. “Matt this is Rebecca a month ago. Although on the phone you’ve argued with me about how old she is, she is only twelve,” He said sternly as he looked down into his green eyes. “Do you know what else I brought with me?”

Matt nodded no, Roger had his undivided attention. At this point he knew that he had the upper hand and his confidence was growing.

As he had practiced it for the past couple of weeks, and numerous times in the hotel room the previous night, Roger went on, “print outs of many of the texts between you and Rebecca. Here’s one to refresh your memory.” He handed an eight and a half by eleven sheet of printer paper that was full of texts back and forth between the two. In yellow highlight were some of the raciest passages. Most would make good dialog in a porn flick. Matt looked down at the paper and Roger could see a very worried expression come over his face. At this point Matt must have been wondering what the hell was going to happen.

As Matt continued to look at the paper avoiding eye contact, Roger asked him, “what do you think of this?” There was no response and after about a minute Roger said, “If someone was writing this material to your underage daughter, what would you do?” He spoke the words chosen over the past weeks slow and deliberately for emphasis. Matt was squirming .

“Here’s a set of the texts that I have between you and Rebecca, and here’s another set for your parents. I have three more sets, one for the Sexual Offenders Unit of the Seattle Police Department, one for the FBI--this technically is a Federal crime since it transpired over state lines.” When he heard this last part Matt looked up and his face was getting redder. He said nothing, just stared. Roger wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger, but was betting on fear. “Matt, my wife and I have told you a number of times not to contact our daughter, she’s twelve, you’re nineteen, this is completely inappropriate and…” He left a long pause for Matt to fill in the blank.

Matt’s forehead now had several beads of sweat; Roger had him right where he wanted him. “So Matt, what do you think we should do?”

He shook his head from side-to-side ever so slightly and shrugged his shoulders. This is probably the look a principal sees when a kid is sent into his office for a talk. What was Matt thinking? What could he say or do now, he was in an impossible position and knew it. “Are you going to contact Rebecca again?”

Barely audible, Matt said, “No.”

“I didn’t get that.”

“No,” Matt said a only slightly louder.

“Good, but if you do I think you have a huge problem. Do you ever watch 48 Hours when they are going after sexual predators? Do you know what happens to them after the camera crew leaves? The police come in and arrest them, and do you know why?”

Matt nodded up and down and looked past assuring that he wouldn’t make eye contact. “You have a couple of choices, one of them is to stop calling and texting my daughter, and you may want to stop texting everyone else that filthy shit. Another is to ignore this visit like you ignored our phone conversations and then accept the consequences. A third choice is to call the police and tell them to get me off of your property. I would then explain to the Seattle police why I am here and give them their envelope.”

“What do you think you will do?”

His voice cracking Matt said, “I’m not going to text or call Rebecca anymore.”

“And I don’t think you should take any of her calls either.”

“Matt, if you do that and don’t tell Rebecca about this visit I may not have to share these texts with the police and FBI. But as a father of a twelve year old daughter, if I know that you are talking with her again I am going to have to forward these to the proper authorities, do you understand?”

Matt shook his head. “Do we have an agreement?” Again Matt shook his head. “Good.”

Roger turned around, walked down the three steps towards the street. Almost to the sidewalk he looked at the large, white envelopes with the texts in them, raised them as if to waive goodbye and looked back at Matt. He was still on the porch staring as in disbelief. Roger continued to walk to the driver’s side of the G6, slowly slid in and put the envelopes on the seat beside him. He started the car and pulled away while not taking his eyes off of Matt.

Was it over? Roger Barger sure hoped so. If Matt was smart he would never talk or text any underage person ever again, but was he smart? Only time will tell. If not, Roger had already scheduled a follow-up meeting in Seattle in two months.